Fate's Interference
by CherriiMarina
Summary: Months after Paris, Miranda and Andrea are both getting on with their lives. How will they handle the changes Fate decides to throw at them? (Written as a gift for LillyPheonix for her birthday and college graduation.)
1. May

**A/N:** I own nothing except my own collection of words and phrases. I have nothing for which you could sue me except for debt, and if you really want to take part of that away from me, I would welcome it.

This is, as ever, un-betaed, so any mistakes you see are my own. See any? Let me know so I can fix them.

This is my first attempt at Devil Wears Prada and Miranda/Andrea. LillyPheonix asked for a story for her birthday and college graduation, and requested a science-fiction or fantasy story utilizing the following terms: fire engine, cowgirl up, lilies of the valley, and snapping turtles. Happy Birthday, Tia, and Congratulations on getting your degree! I hope you enjoy your gift.

=======================MP/AS=======================

_May 5th_

Andrea Sachs woke up to the blaring noise of her alarm clock. Groaning, she flipped over onto her back and reached to slam her hand down on the snooze button. She sat up on the edge of the bed and ran her hands over her face, hopelessly smearing the remnants of the previous day's makeup down her face. Groaning, she stumbled into her tiny kitchen, turning on the prepared coffee pot. When it began the odd series of clicks and pops that signaled that the coffee was perking, she staggered and swayed her way into the bathroom, stripping on her way so that she stepped into the dark room naked.

She flipped the light switch and winced at the harsh fluorescence of the buzzing overhead bulb as she started the shower and sat to take care of her morning business before stepping into the now-heated spray of water. She washed quickly but thoroughly, making sure that all traces of the ruined makeup were removed from her skin.

Several minutes later, she stepped from the shower, feeling half alive for the first time since the alarm had jerked her from sleep. She wrapped a thin towel around her head, twisting it with her damp hair to hold it all in place and continue to wick the water from the long brown mass. Wrapping a ratty terrycloth robe around herself, she followed her nose back into the kitchen and poured her first cup of heavenly coffee. Not bothering to add anything to the first cup, she sipped delicately at the bitter liquid, feeling its warmth suffuse her better than the hot shower had been able to do. Long minutes passed and the first cup was emptied, the caffeine rushing through her system and allowing her eyes to finally fully open.

She poured the second cup, this time adding a bit of sugar and cream to cut the bitterness, and took it with her into the bathroom to finish getting ready. An hour later, the cup was once again empty, and Andy was ready to face her day. She had left her hair down and applied the bare minimum of makeup. She didn't need much to begin with, and her time at _Runway_ had taught her that the better the quality of the products, the less was actually needed to achieve the desired effects.

From her closet, she had pulled grey slacks with a thin black pinstripe, and a matching vest was placed over a white button-down shirt. Pairing the not-designer-but-well-cut outfit with a pair of black heels, she was happy she didn't have to wear the stilettos she'd had to wear in her executive assistant position. These heels still gave her a couple extra inches of height, but they didn't serve to make her tower over anyone under six feet tall, and had the added benefit of not being nearly as uncomfortable as the higher heels had been.

She grabbed her purse and briefcase and left for The Mirror, where she normally spent her days slogging through introductory articles and obituaries. Despite the somewhat glowing reference she'd gotten from her former boss, she was still the most junior reporter on staff, and got much of the drudge work that nobody else wanted to do.

Her apartment wasn't too far from the building which housed The Mirror, and so Andy chose to walk to work, as she did most days when the weather allowed. Early in May, the day was starting out beautifully. It was hot, but there was a cool breeze blowing that took the edge off the heat and made it feel lovely.

As she often did during her early walks into work, Andrea thought about the woman she'd left in the lurch in Paris all those months ago. Miranda Priestly was a genuine force of nature with her exacting manner and the way she demanded nothing less than perfection in every facet of her professional life. Andrea had been given several brief peeks into the crumbling mess that was her personal life, and understood how someone with inherent control issues would transfer her frustrations at her lack of control over her personal life into the scathing waspishness she displayed at work.

It was a tendency she showed herself. She'd started the job at _Runway_ as a means to an end. She needed a paycheck, and although she'd internally grimaced at the fashion world depicted in its glossy pages, the magazine was at least a part of the publishing industry, not that she ever had the chance to write anything for publication in it. However, the longer she'd worked there, and the more she'd been faced with the startling truths that fashion wasn't as much bunk as she'd initially thought, the better she'd wanted to be at her job. If that meant taking phone calls at four in the morning, making endless coffee and shopping runs, and upping her own fashion game with Nigel's help, then that's what would happen.

She'd realized on some level that this new awareness was pulling her away from Nate, and no amount of slinky lingerie could make up for her absenteeism, but she'd felt justified in her decisions. As she suspected of Miranda, the less control she was able to exert over her personal life and over Nate, Lily, and Doug, the more she threw into her job, until she had perfected every facet of pleasing Miranda; of anticipating her every need and filling it before she could even ask.

Paris had woken her up. Nate was gone, Christian was a manipulative asshole, and Miranda … Miranda went too far. Over several dinners and rounds of drinks in the months since the incident, she and Nigel had come to an agreement that although it had seemed exceedingly cold in the moment, Miranda had done it without malice, and had since more than made up for it with one of her oldest friends. Neither still held it against the white-haired icon, but by the time Andrea had finally forgiven her for the actions she'd deemed at the time to be despicable, it had been too late to do anything about it.

Andrea would love to explain to Miranda that she understood, but too much time had passed, and she couldn't face the sharp wit, biting words, and utter disdain she would be faced with if she attempted to apologize. Miranda never took well to apologies anyway.

Turning the last corner before reaching work, Andrea was surprised to see a small flower stall set up in front of the abandoned building that sat beside her destination. The stall was made up of four five-gallon plastic buckets, overturned with a couple boards on top to form a table-like surface. The boards were covered with several decorative containers filled with beautiful flowers of several different varieties. Behind the stall, a woman sat on a thick pillow cross-legged, wearing threadbare blue jeans and a pink tee-shirt with the words "Cowgirl-Up" blazoned on the front in stylized white letters. She had long platinum-blonde hair with a slight wave to it, and piercingly blue eyes that vaguely reminded Andrea of Miranda's.

Andrea stopped and looked over the selection of flowers, drawn for some reason to some tall-stalked flowers with drooping bell-shaped flowers in white and pink. "How much for one of those?"

"Lilies of the Valley are only two dollars apiece. Nice choice, Miss." The woman spoke with a low, soft voice, lightly accented, though Andrea couldn't place its origin. She dug through her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill, offering it to the seated woman.

"Here you go. I'll take just one and you can keep the change, since I have nothing smaller with me."

"Thank you, Miss. You are most generous. Please feel free to choose the flower for yourself, though if I might make a suggestion, this one," she reached and pointed to one where the blossoms held both colors in swirling stripes instead of the plain ones next to it, "would look lovely pinned on your vest's lapel."

The mixture of colors on the delicate flowers captivated Andrea, and she reached for the indicated stem. "Thank you, I think I will take this one. I don't have a pin with me, but maybe I can find a safety pin once I get into the office." She lifted the flower and sniffed at it, enjoying the heady sweet scent that drifted up her nose.

"I have a few, and will gladly give you one as you have overpaid for the flower." The woman stood and came around, a florist pin in her fingers. "May I?" Andrea nodded, and she deftly secured the flower to the left panel of Andrea's pin-striped vest. "There now, just as I thought."

Andrea thanked the woman again and dashed off, glancing at her watch and swearing under her breath about being late. In her quick departure, she didn't see the woman's clear blue eyes twinkling. "Lily of the Valley? This is going to be such fun."

=======================MP/AS=======================

High in her glittering glass bastion of strength, Miranda Priestly took her glasses off, absently sticking one of the arms between her teeth. There was something off about the layout in front of her, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it. A strand of hair fell over her eye, and she reached up to sweep it aside without thought to the action. She had about ten minutes before she needed to leave for a lunch meeting, and she wanted to have this done before she left. She looked over it for several more minutes when suddenly her eyes snapped to something in the corner, and she replaced her glasses. That was it! She scribbled a note on a Post-it and stuck it to the page.

She stood and straightened her clothes, idly playing with her belt for a moment, making adjustments that weren't needed. "Emily." She never had to raise her voice or reduce herself to yelling as some did.

Seconds later, her red-haired First Assistant came bustling efficiently through the door. "Yes, Miranda?"

"Take these down to Nigel and tell him to fix it," she gestured at the layouts on her desk, "and make sure Roy is downstairs. I'll be leaving for my lunch with Donatella in two minutes."

"Yes, Miranda." Emily grabbed the layout pages and bustled back out of the office with the same efficiency with which she'd entered. Miranda turned to look out at the busy city below, taking a moment to just not think about anything or anyone. She certainly wasn't thinking about _her_. Her biggest disappointment.

She could hear Emily's voice from the outer office, chastising someone on the phone. Probably Roy. Maybe there was unforeseen traffic and he would be delayed. Her lips pursed slightly at the thought of being late. Her gaze flickered down to the street below, and relaxed slightly when she saw the Town Car pull up to the curb.

Steeling herself, she strode from her office, calling to the new Emily for her purse. The heat had begun to set into the city, and she hadn't worn a coat. Almost instantly, the purse was placed into her waiting hand, and she clicked her way down the hall to the elevators, watching with amusement as people scrambled to get out of her way. Once inside the elevator, she replaced her reading glasses with her signature sunglasses. With a quiet ding, the doors slid open and she swept her way elegantly out to the car where Roy was waiting.

It was a quick ride to whatever trendy restaurant Donatella had chosen, and the lunch was adequately prepared, the service impeccable, of course. Back in the car afterward, Miranda was thinking that as much as she enjoyed the time she spent with one of the few designers she deigned to call a friend, sometimes she could be just a bit much. She mentally went through her schedule for the rest of the day, grimacing at the thought of yet another run-through. The choices and samples that were being sent over were uninspired and weak, and if they hadn't managed to put something better together than they'd brought in the last few meetings, it was likely someone would be leaving sans employment at the end of the day. She couldn't tolerate anything less than perfection.

She had settled for less than the best too many times when she'd been younger, and had lived by her promise to herself that she would never do it again once she pulled herself up to the top.

Roy pulled up to the curb and jumped out to come around and open her door. Putting her sunglasses back on, she stepped from the car and was immediately assaulted with guitar music. She started to frown at the audacity someone had to sit and play music in front of _her_ building, and then she saw the woman who was playing. Her long hair was dirty blonde, and her eyes were a deep, dark brown. The song she was playing was an old favorite of Miranda's from years and years ago, back in the times before she'd gotten her start.

The woman's nimble fingers were pulling out nuances of the song that Miranda didn't think were possible to replicate on a simple acoustic guitar. She was sitting on the concrete sidewalk, legs crossed beneath her, and the guitar case open beside her, awaiting spare change and donations. There was a sign propped up inside the case which read, "Help change someone's fortune," and the combination of the music, her memories, and the selfless nature of the sign touched her somewhere deep inside.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the first bill she saw, dropping it into the case as she strode across the concrete toward the door. "You play beautifully," she said softly as she passed.

"Thank you, for your kind words and for your very generous donation. You do realize that's a fifty you dropped in, don't you?" She spoke with amazement, her fingers never stopping in their work.

"Hm, I didn't look. No matter, however. You deserve every penny." Without waiting for a response, her heels began to tap their way toward the door again, disappearing into the metal and glass palace from where she reigned over the fashion industry.

The guitar player smiled warmly as she continued to play, plucking the melody out with inhuman skill. "Found you."

=======================MP/AS=======================


	2. June

**A/N:** I own nothing except my own collection of words and phrases. I have nothing for which you could sue me except for debt, and if you really want to take part of that away from me, I would welcome it.

This is, as ever, un-betaed, so any mistakes you see are my own. See any? Let me know so I can fix them.

I won't be updating this so quickly every time, but I've a few chapters pre-written, and I thought I'd go ahead and give you the second chapter. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed. I find that I'm quite enjoying this little foray into DWP after so long writing for HP.

=======================MP/AS=======================

_June 5th_

Over the last month, the blonde street vendor had shown up to sell her wares two or three times a week, and Andrea had begun to keep a five dollar bill in her purse at all times just in case it was one of her days. Each time she showed up, Andrea chose the same pink and white Lily of the Valley she'd chosen the first time, as though it was a compulsion. She'd tried several times to convince the flower lady to tell Andy her name, but each time, was instead given an enigmatic look, a wistful smile, and the same response of "Oh, you'll know when you know." Mentally, Andrea was referring to her as Flora in honor of the wares she sold.

Strange things had been happening. The day-to-day drudge work she had been unfailingly assigned since starting as a junior writer for The Mirror had started to turn into more meaningful pieces with an actual byline. She was still paid her base salary as before, but with the features she'd been turning out, her finances had begun to improve as well. She was starting slowly, but had begun phasing out her old, threadbare towels and washrags for newer, plusher models in modern styling and colors of black and silver and white. She'd purchased a new set of medium-quality dishware in the same color palette from which Nate had never served her a pretentious grilled cheese.

She still felt his absence keenly, even months after he'd moved to Boston. It wasn't so much that she missed Nate and his idiosyncrasies, as much as she missed having someone there when she came home, or having someone to talk to when she'd had a rough day – or a really good one. She still had Lily she could talk to at times, though her oldest female friend had cooled toward her somewhat since Christian and Nate and that damned trip to Paris. She just couldn't understand how the high-pressure job had changed Andrea, and had problems seeing how those changes had become positive things in Andrea's life.

Doug was Doug, steadfast and loyal, and their friendship had actually deepened since Nate left, but between her job, his job, and Doug's never-ending search for Mr. Right, they didn't have as much time to spend together as either of them would like. He, unlike Lily, had understood that her new assertiveness and organizational skills, not to mention the way she never let anyone tell her who or what she was anymore, had been things she'd been desperately lacking before her time with Miranda.

_Miranda._ She sighed as the woman's name passed through her mind yet again. It had been several months since they'd last seen each other, Andrea waving from across the street, and Miranda trying to hide her honest smile at her newest former assistant. Ever the observer of all things Miranda, however, Andrea had been able to make it out. She thought it meant that Miranda was happy to see that Andrea was moving on and succeeding after her time with _Runway_, but the changeable woman was always so hard to read that even Andrea couldn't always be sure.

"Sachs!" The gravelly voice of her editor brought Andrea out of her musings.

"Yeah, Chief?" She replied, grinning at him innocently.

"Hell, Sachs, you know better than to sass me with that 'Chief' bullshit. Have you finished that piece on the Nursing Home yet?"

"Just putting the finishing touches on it, Chief." She smirked.

"Can I expect it within the hour then? And stop it with the Chief shit, Sachs. I could fire you for less."

"Sure thing, Chief. And yeah, you _could_ fire me, but we both know you won't. You enjoy my cheek too much."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get that piece finished and in my inbox, Sachs, before I actually do fire you for your cheek."

"You got it." She could see surprise and wariness flicker over his face when she didn't use the hated title again. She met his eyes with her own, a glint of mischievousness in their depths. "Now get out of here, _Chief_, and quit distracting me. If I don't finish this article soon, my boss is going to fire me, and I need this job."

He rolled his eyes in amusement and went back across the floor to his glass-walled office, chuckling as he grumbled the whole way.

She took a delicate sniff from the lily on her lapel and pushed her distractions aside to finish the piece.

=======================MP/AS=======================

The guitar player was back again. She'd been outside the Elias-Clarke building at least once a week since that first day Miranda had carelessly thrown a fifty-dollar bill her way. Every time, the young woman would be playing another song from Miranda's past, and Miranda would compliment her as she threw a completely random bill into the guitar case. After the first fifty, there had been a twenty, followed the next week by a hundred, and today, it was back to the fifty.

Miranda knew that if this girl was living on the streets, the money she tossed her way would keep her safe and fed, if not sheltered, and took an odd sort of pride in the charitable donations she was making. The old cliché popped into her head. _You may not be something to everyone, but to someone, you could be everything. _In her position as the world's most revered fashion maven and editor-in-chief to the biggest, most widely read fashion magazine in the world, she was already something to a very many people in the world, and everything to a select few more, in at least one way, but none of it was personal; it was all business. It was refreshing to Miranda to be able to assist this young musician, who probably had absolutely no clue who she was other than a generous donator.

Today, however, there was something different. There was a short stack of newspapers held down with a smooth oblong rock sitting next to the guitarist. Was that The Mirror? Perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together in thought. Ah, that was the little paper that _she_ had gone to when she'd left Miranda in Paris.

She would have to add the paper to her morning subscriptions so she could see if the young brunette was writing anything more than obituaries and classified ads yet. A wry smile twisted her fire engine red lips as she thought about that woman – she still refused to even think of her by name – getting lost in the small drudge work that made up an introductory career in journalism after the sensationalism of being one of Miranda's most trusted circle of employees.

She strode through the building's lobby, glaring at someone who scurried out of her way, leaving the elevator empty for her to ride up to her floor. Having reached her destination, she again watched as the entire _Runway_ staff scurried around, changing shoes and throwing out unhealthy lunches of which they knew she would certainly not approve. Was that a pair of those disgusting Crocs she saw someone discarding for a more respectable pair of Jimmy Choos? That one certainly bore a closer watching. Those disgraceful shoes certainly had a time and place, but not inside her magazine.

She tossed her purse on the Second Assistant's desk … was her name Margaret? Maureen? Whatever. "Emily," she said as she sat behind her desk. The black-haired woman came running into the office, the distinct odor of what could only be pizza wafting off her clothing. She stood at the ready.

"Yes, Miranda?"

"First, we do not consume pizza in my office. If you must indulge once in a while," she looked up from her day's calendar, peering over the top of her reading glasses, "at least attempt to rid yourself of the odor before I return." She saw as the woman paled even further, nervously touching the corners of her mouth with the tips of her fingers, as though some invisible sauce and cheese remained there. Her gaze returned to peruse her calendar further. "Second, add a subscription to The New York Mirror to my morning periodicals. That's all."

"Yes, Miranda." The woman all but ran from the office, closing the heavy glass doors behind her.

Miranda sighed, removing her glasses and massaging the bridge of her nose between two fingers. Was it that hard to find someone with a bit of sass and gumption? She was actually beginning to miss … _her_.

Just then, a manila envelope on the corner of her desk caught her eye. She opened it and felt a genuine smile grace her face for the first time in a while. It was finally complete. She may have hated the circumstances and the effects the legal proceedings had had on her babies, but the divorce from Stephen was anything but unwelcome. For the third time in her not-so-very short life, she was free from the stifling attentions of a husband, and she had absolutely no intention to ever enter the institute of marriage again. Freedom really was the best option.

=======================MP/AS=======================


	3. July

**A/N:** I own nothing except my own collection of words and phrases. I have nothing for which you could sue me except for debt, and if you really want to take part of that away from me, I would welcome it.

I was going to wait until I had more written to post this, but then I thought I'd go ahead and rip off the bandaid all at once rather than waiting and agonizing over it. I have worried and freaked out and worried some more over this chapter, but I had a friend read through it and she assured me it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was. I hope you guys think the same thing. (Thanks to Behindthebook08 for all the moral support.) So enjoy!

Oh, and this is definitely a NSFW chapter. Just letting you know.

This is, as ever, un-betaed, so any mistakes you see are my own. See any? Let me know so I can fix them.

=======================MP/AS=======================

_July 5th_

Andrea's luck continued on its upward course. She was given bigger and better stories, and was beginning to garner a real name, at least in the offices of the Mirror, and other publications were starting to take note as well.

As such, she was being paid more for each feature on top of her base salary, and she was beginning to do quite well. She'd replaced the rattier pieces of her furniture with admittedly still used pieces, but of much better quality. The next item on her agenda of self-improvement was to slowly acquire a better wardrobe. She had done well with the limited funds she'd had before with knock-offs, using what knowledge Nigel, Emily, and Miranda had imparted to her fashion sense during her tenure at _Runway_, but somewhere inside, she missed the feel of the superior fabrics as they brushed along her skin and the expensive lingerie.

She still couldn't afford to run down to the shops she once had darted in and out of in harried errands to pick up free samples for Miranda, but she knew where some of the castoffs were taken at the end of each season when the Closet was done with them, and those shops offered a deep discount on the previous season's designs, sold on consignment and the money sent back to _Runway_ where it was then donated to various charities.

She had maintained the size four for which she'd worked so hard under the pressure of her job at _Runway_, so most of the castoffs she found fit well, and the shoes weren't _too_ expensive to replace, even at full price; not if she was careful.

The summer heat was starting to crank itself up, and even her slightly improved wardrobe couldn't mitigate the worst of the damage on her daily trips to and from work. She had begun to leave in the stillness of the very early dawn to avoid the worst the summer sun could throw at her, and was frequently surprised to see "Flora" sitting and peddling her wares, even that early in the morning. She still bought one of the pink and white striped lilies of the valley every time Flora was out. The flower vendor was always gone by lunch, and Andy didn't blame her. The midday sun was blistering, and sitting on the hot concrete in that heat had to be unbearable.

Her evening walk home was always a strange combination of the best and worst part of her day. It was the best, obviously, because she was leaving work to go home or out on one of her weekly shopping excursions, or occasionally out for drinks with Doug or Nigel. By extension, it was the worst, because the day's heat had built to a crescendo by that time, not having even begun the evening cooldown at the time she normally left.

She staggered through her doorway and tossed her keys and soft leather briefcase on the small table she left beside the door for those items, and hung her purse from a convenient hook. Her shoes were unceremoniously kicked off and left where they fell as she made her way into the kitchen on unsteady feet. Grabbing a glass from the dish drain, she threw open the refrigerator door and poured a glass of water from the filtered pitcher within. She collapsed into one of her two dining chairs and drained the glass empty before pouring another and doing the same with it.

Her head felt light and there were black spots dancing around the edges of her vision. Something was wrong, she thought. The heat shouldn't have had that profound an effect on her in the short time it took to walk home from work. As she slid to the floor from her chair, she caught a whiff of something familiarly sweet. Before she could puzzle out the source, the black spots took over and she lost consciousness.

=======================MP/AS=======================

Miranda milled around the party, the picture of proper polite society, but she wished she was anywhere but the dingy apartment that the hosting designer dared call home. The room was overfilled with people, and she had been "accidentally" touched upwards of three times already, which was testing the limits of her patience. Why she had ever decided to attend the party, she would never know, but she was surreptitiously keeping an eye on her watch, waiting for the allotted minutes to pass before she could leave without causing anyone to think she was snubbing the designer. She sighed lightly, the motion hidden behind her stoic façade.

He really was quite a talented designer, but the grubby little apartment he lived in was quite despicable. It was a tiny near-studio, with only a pane of glass separating the kitchen from the bedroom and bathroom, and nothing at all stood between the small living room and the kitchen and miniscule dining area.

She glanced down at her watch again and had nearly made up her mind to leave anyway before someone else dared touch her without permission, her lips beginning to purse automatically as she was jostled for the fifth time. _That's it. I'm gone._ She took her drink glass into the kitchen and placed it in the sink before turning to make her way to the door. She had taken only a couple of steps when she experienced for herself the phenomenon that normally happened when she entered the room. All chatter subsided, and it felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room in a giant vacuum. The crowd parted in front of Miranda, and at the other end of the tunnel stood the most handsome man she had ever seen.

He seemed somewhat familiar, but she knew that she had never seen him before that moment. He stood just a couple inches taller than her, even with the added inches from her heels, and he sported shoulder-length hair in seemingly conflicting shades of white and brown, pulled back into a thin ponytail at the nape of his neck. Even from across the room, his luminous golden eyes shone at her, beckoning her to cross the parted sea of guests and come to him. She took a tentative step forward, her courage failing her at the same time that her imagination took hold and made her feet keep moving at a positively glacial pace that she would normally never have allowed anyone to use in her presence.

It was as though time was standing still as she crossed the distance between them, her hips swaying seductively. Their eyes were locked together, the gaze unbroken for the seeming eternity it took her to reach him. As she neared, he held out one hand, and without a passing thought, she put her hand in it, soaking up the warmth of his gentle grip.

"Come with me?" His voice was low and sultry, and almost dripped with sexual allure.

Without giving even a second to think about it, she said, "Yes," in her signature quiet voice, and he smiled wickedly before leading her from the room, walking himself backwards without a glance, Miranda following as though bespelled.

They went down one flight of dirty, creaking stairs, and had she been in her right mind, she would have sneered at the filth, but all she could see were those golden eyes glowing in front of her, serving as a beacon. They reached the next landing and he turned them, heading for a door. When they reached it, he looked deeply into her piercing blue eyes and said, "Stay here. Do not leave. Do not move. Stay here. I will be right back."

"Yes."

He disappeared through the door, and although she didn't know why, she didn't move a single muscle other than when she dropped her arm to her side.

After just a moment, he came back, and circling around behind her, put a hand on each shoulder, nudging her through the now-open door. "Come."

With that honeyed voice, she could do nothing else but obey. The apartment he led her into was a carbon copy of the one they'd just left, but it had furniture that spoke of a woman's touch. A woman with good taste, she was happy to note. The furniture was far from new, but the workmanship was flawless, all the colors melding nicely with the brick walls. He turned her from the entranceway into the kitchen, and somehow, she wasn't surprised to see _her_ standing next to the table, her face as blank as Miranda's own. Her biggest disappointment and there she was. _Andrea_.

"Miranda." The blank look on Andy's face disappeared as she registered that her ex-boss was standing in her little apartment, dressed to the nines with perfectly coiffed hair and flawless makeup and accessories.

"Andrea." Somewhere inside, something began to struggle free, and the empty stare on her own face starting to dissipate.

"Now, now, ladies. This is no time for conflicts of the past, is it? We have decreed that it shall be, and so it shall. The seeds were already planted long ago, and now it is time to nurture them." The honeyed voice of the man with the strange hair washed over them, calming nerves and ire both. "The seeds were planted, but before we continue, we need to know." He stood between them and faced Miranda, two fingers on her chin, bringing her gaze back to those golden eyes. "Do not try to lie or we will know, Miranda Priestly. Is she who you want?"

"Yes." Wait, what? Want who? _Andrea?_ Did she just say yes?

"Is she who you need?"

"Yes." Miranda needed nobody. And yet … perhaps … if she wanted _her_, then maybe the want truly was need.

"Do you freely consent to what will happen?"

She wasn't exactly sure what would happen, but a strange peace descended on her. If it involved _her_, then of course her answer had to be "Yes."

"Very well. Your words have been deemed truthful. The first has consented. So mote it be." He turned then and faced Andrea, moving his fingers to her chin, lifting slightly so that she looked into the golden light emanating from his eyes. "Do not try to lie or we will know, Andrea Sachs. Is she who you want?"

"Yes." She'd wanted Miranda for so long, but how was it relevant?

"Is she who you need?"

"God yes." Until that moment, with Miranda standing there in her little kitchen, staring at her with eyes full of a warmth she'd rarely seen, Andrea hadn't realized just how much she needed her.

"Do you freely consent to what will happen?"

Her thoughts mirrored those of Miranda from seconds before. "Yes."

"Very well. Your words have been deemed truthful. The second has consented. So mote it be."

He dropped his hand from her jaw and held both of his hands outstretched in front of him. "As the third, I fully and freely give my consent. By the power of the Triad, So mote it be!" There was a pulse of golden light and energy that swept out from his hands, wrapping itself around the three people in Andrea's tiny kitchen. Without any verbal prompting, each woman raised a hand and placed it in one of his.

His thrall over them was strong, but there was something else present that hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had, but it had not been so thick and palpable and _present_ before his words.

Ducking beneath his hands where they were being held by Miranda and Andrea, he turned and led them with crossed arms into the bedroom. Once inside, he brought the hands within his own together, both sets of thin feminine fingers locking together in a tight grip, a spark arcing across the surface.

His hands fell away, and Miranda and Andrea turned to face each other, their other hands coming up to grip each other in the same manner, and he watched as the spark arced across the joined fingers on those hands as well.

"As you will, my ladies." He stepped back and watched as they stepped closer to each other, lust shining from their eyes brightly. As though pulled by a magnetic force, lips met and moved against each other, and a low whimper sounded from Andrea's throat. Both moved at the same time to deepen the kiss, tongues surging forth to caress and glide, to lick and suck and pull. Their still-joined hands were producing electrical arcs in a myriad of colors as they kissed, one jumping from their skin to sizzle into the wooden floorboards at their feet.

The spark leaving them caused another reaction, hands finally separating and beginning to fondle and grope at each woman's body. Clothes were unceremoniously tugged at and pulled, buttons and zippers melting away until nothing was left between them but a bit of air, a fine sheen of sweat from the heat of the summer night, and a thick coating of wanting and desire. He could smell the musky smell of the sweat and the arousal that was starting to drip down the inner thighs of both women as their mouths attacked each other yet again.

His golden eyes blinked, and the immaculately tailored suit in which he had been clad disappeared in a shimmering golden mist, leaving him as nude and aroused as the two ladies in front of him. He put a hand on their shoulders, and as one, they stepped out of the pile of clothes, Andrea's knees hitting the edge of the mattress. Miranda laid her gently back, climbing to straddle the younger woman, four hands reaching to stroke four breasts, tugging and pulling and pinching at hardened tips, their bodies on fire from head to toe.

The junctures of their thighs were pressed together, and both women were breathing raggedly from need and arousal. Both women's tight cunts were dripping, clits mashing together deliciously as Miranda moved over Andy. He knelt behind Miranda and gently pushed, leading her to lean down and resume the passionate kiss. Unfortunately, the change in position made the contact they'd been seeking harder to maintain. When both of them whimpered simultaneously at the loss, he knew he was right about the timing. "Shh, ladies," he crooned softly with that voice like thickened honey, "all will be better in just a moment. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," they answered in unison, voices still showing mild distress.

"Then pray continue. This is all for you." They had no problems going back to the wild kissing session, hands gripping tightly at each other, pulling them impossibly close, the tension between them rising as the new closeness brought their tightened and hyper-sensitive nipples in contact. Looking to ensure everything was still in position, and that both women were suitably wet and ready, he whispered a word under his breath and then slid himself all the way into Miranda's waiting depths. From her, he heard a pleasured hiss, and confirming that things were working properly, an answering gasp was heard from Andrea as well.

Keeping one hand on each hip, he picked up the pace, and he could hear the moans and whimpers from both Miranda and Andrea, as the spell replicated his thrusting organ completely, so that both women felt exactly the same thing. He continued the pistoning motion, picking up speed and force, the pressure at the base of his spine starting to whine through every vertebra up into his brain and back down into his ears. The whine was ratcheting up in pitch, as were the yips and screams that had replaced the low moans from earlier. The sensitive pads of his fingers where they rested against each hip were feeding him information, and they were all close, teetering over the precipice, and then all at once, the whine was gone as he grunted and the women screamed out their pleasure.

He withdrew himself quickly and pulled Miranda back upright, putting her throbbing sex back into direct contact with Andrea's. In response, a silver mist enfolded the room, circling the three of them before excluding the male presence, centering itself on the hot, wet point of contact.

It swirled and dipped its way in and out and through the women's bodies, then exploded in a flash of silver light. When the brightness dissipated, Andrea was curled up alone in her bed, her clothes properly put away, just as though she'd come in and put them away herself. There was no sign that anyone else had ever been in her apartment. She slept deeply all through the night, dreaming of gold and silver mists and ice blue eyes melting into hers.

Across town, Miranda was safely ensconced in her own bed, dreaming similar dreams of pools of endless brown and sinking face-first into them.

Somewhere in the darkness of the night between Andrea's apartment building and Miranda's townhouse, two blonde women and a man with changeable hair were coming together with matching smirks. It had been another job well done. Fate had worked their magics this night, and they were pleased with themselves.

=======================MP/AS=======================

So, there it is. Don't lose heart; that'll be the only hetero-ish scene I write. It was a necessary evil. Sorry.


	4. August

**A/N:** I own nothing except my own collection of words and phrases. I have nothing for which you could sue me except for debt, and if you really want to take part of that away from me, I would welcome it.

My apologies for not warning you about that scene in the last chapter. It seems to have upset a few people more than I thought it would. You have my assurances that there will be no more like it (either in this story or likely in any of my others), but hopefully this chapter will help you understand why it happened. Thank you all for sticking with the story despite a one-off scene.

This is, as ever, un-betaed, so any mistakes you see are my own. See any? Let me know so I can fix them.

=======================MP/AS=======================

_August 5th_

It seemed that Andy's run of good luck was coming to an end. Oh, she was still getting the better stories at work, and her financial upswing hadn't stopped in its momentum, but it had been more than a month since her last cycle, and she'd always been as regular as clockwork. She was three weeks late, and while she would have just shrugged it off as stress or something similar, knowing she hadn't had any partners in bed since Christian in Paris, that morning, she woke up nauseated. A skipped period was one thing when one knew she hadn't had sex, but adding in nausea in the morning made the blood drain from her face as she dashed into the bathroom to heave up the last remaining bits of her supper from the night before.

As soon as she was again capable of speech, she called her editor and told him she wouldn't be in that day. He inquired as to her health, and she brushed it off as probably a twenty-four hour bug and said she would check with her doctor before coming back to work.

Once he hung up, she did just that. Her GP's secretary was happy to get her in that morning, not asking too many questions, which flooded Andy with relief. She had enough time before she was supposed to be there to take a warm bath – she'd heard somewhere that hot water was bad if you were pregnant, and with all signs pointing that way, she didn't want to take any chances.

She had absolutely no idea how the hell this could have happened. The closest she had come to sex had been that odd dream she'd had about Miranda and the enigmatic stranger and their strange threesome the month before, but you could not get pregnant from a dream. So again she wondered how the hell it had happened.

=======================MP/AS=======================

Miranda felt like hell warmed over. She considered taking a half day to see if the nausea would abate, but her day was so full. There just wasn't any possible way she could fail to go in. She thought back over what she'd eaten the day before, but none of it had been suspect. She sat up in bed, and as she angled around to put her feet down on the plush carpet, her arm caused the inner surface of her satin pajama top to brush harshly against her breast, and she inhaled sharply at the rush of unexpected pain.

She unbuttoned the top, checking for any kind of foreign object which could have caused the soft material to hurt that much. There was nothing on the top, so she checked her breasts to see if it had clung instead to her skin somehow. There was nothing there, but she did notice that they seemed puffy or swollen. She ran her own hands over the abused area, and winced at the tenderness the action had caused.

"Fuck," she exclaimed in the silence. "They haven't hurt like this since I was first pregnant with the girls." She attempted to stand, and ended up running into her en-suite, barely making it before her stomach emptied itself into the porcelain bowl. The cool glazed material felt glorious against her sensitive breasts as they swayed and pressed against it. The tiled floor felt just as wonderful when she lowered herself to lie on it after she was finished.

She thought back to what she'd said to herself aloud. Nausea, vomiting, the tenderest of tender breasts… it all pointed in an impossible direction. The closest she'd come to sexual contact was that horribly vivid dream she'd had of _her_ and that strange ménage a trois following that party across town the month before, and one absolutely could not, under any circumstances get pregnant from a dream, no matter how damned vivid it had been. …But with the signs pointing that way, and with her age, maybe it was time to get things checked out and make sure the dreaded menopause wasn't starting to rear its ugly head.

She called Emily and told her to make an appointment with her doctor for that day, and then reschedule things accordingly. She barely got out her signature "That's all." before she was hauling ass back to the bathroom to pray once again to the porcelain god.

How dare Miranda Priestly's body betray her like this! Didn't it know who she was? This was unacceptable.

=======================MP/AS=======================

Andrea stared at the doctor incredulously. "I'm …?"

"Pregnant, yes. I'd say about a month along based on the information you gave me."

"But… I can't… I haven't… I don't understand."

"You must have done something. This doesn't just happen out of nowhere, Ms. Sachs." His patronizing tone was beginning to grate on her nerves. "Now, I'm going to start you on a good pre-natal vitamin, and the nurse will give you some flyers and information and refer you to a good OB-GYN, assuming you don't already have one."

"No. I don't have a gynecologist. I haven't needed one." She swallowed heavily. "Are you absolutely sure this can't have been a false positive?"

A little flash of sympathy crossed his face. "No, I'm sorry. You are definitely pregnant. If you don't want that reference to an OB-GYN, the nurse can provide you with information about your other alternatives. We don't judge people for making that choice here. A baby is a big responsibility. If you don't feel like you're up for it, then we can help you."

Her eyes shot up to his, horrified at the implications. "No! No, I couldn't … I may not have been expecting this, but no. I'll take the OB reference."

He nodded understandingly and tore a sheet from his prescription pad before standing up. "Of course. If you'll just come this way, the nurse will get you whatever you need." He gently ushered her from his office and back out into the consultation area. He left her seated in a plastic chair and went in search of the nurse, letting her know what to give to the young brunette sitting and thinking so intensively.

Several minutes later, Andy stumbled from the doctor's office and sucked in a deep breath of the hot air that filled the city in late July and early August. She took the subway back to the station near the Mirror's offices, and prepared herself to tell John her news. She didn't think he was going to take it well.

As she reached the front of the building, she noticed Flora was set up in her normal spot. It was a little late for her stall to still be set up, but for some reason, having seen the blonde woman sitting there, she was craving the sweetly calming scent of her lilies.

She dug through her purse and pulled out her customary five and dropped it on the surface, reaching to pluck her striped lily from the little bucket.

"Oy. Lilies of the Valley are seven bucks apiece, lady. What the fuck is this?"

Andy blinked several times. This wasn't Flora. Her hair was a different shade of blonde – more dirty blonde than Flora's platinum, and there was a hardness to her eyes and face that Flora had never had.

"Hello? If you want that flower, lady, you owe me another two bucks. Hand it over or leave the flower and get the fuck out."

Stunned, Andy dug out another five and dropped it with the first one, retrieving her flower and tucking it behind her ear. "What happened to the other girl who normally sells the flowers here?"

"The fuck you talking about lady? I been parking it here all summer and I'm the only one."

"Oh. Well. My mistake. Keep the change."

"Hey, thanks. That's a pretty good tip."

"Sure." With that, Andy turned back to the Mirror building and mentally prepared herself, forgetting for a moment anything and everything to do with Flora, this mysteriously rude young woman, and the flower stall. She took a deep breath in and pushed through the glass door.

=======================MP/AS=======================

"No, no. You can't be correct. The machinery must be faulty. There is simply no other explanation."

"Ms. Priestly," the doctor started, stopped for a moment by the sheer look of acidic hatred that she aimed in his direction, "Sorry, Miranda. All of our machines are in top condition, and the tests are conclusive. You are pregnant. Based on the calendar information your assistant faxed over," he couldn't believe the woman had had her assistant fax over information to do with the last year's worth of Miranda's menstrual cycles, but then again, this was Miranda Priestly, "I'd say you're about a month along, which puts you due in March sometime."

Her eyes narrowed even further, and she hissed at him, "But I can't be. I have not had sex in over a year!"

"Are you sure?"

"Don't you think I would goddamn remember that? I'm forty-eight, not ninety, and my memory is without defect."

"I don't know what else to tell you, Miranda. The tests are fully conclusive. You _are_ pregnant."

"Oh, for god's sake. Fine. I'm pregnant. What do you suggest I do?" Her eyes rolled impressively at his incompetence.

"Well, that depends on you, Miranda. We can give you some pre-natal vitamins and refer you to an OB-GYN if you don't already have one, or we can give you information on your options and alternatives."

"I'm certainly not going for alternatives, so I suppose you'll just have to get out your little pad and give me a prescription for some vitamins. I have a gynecologist already, and I will have my assistant set up an appointment with her."

He scribbled something on a pad of paper and handed it to her. She snatched it from his hand and put it in her bag. "I wish you all the best, Miranda. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call us and you know we always get you on the schedule ASAP."

"Yes." She stood and breezed her way out of the office. Once she was safely ensconced in her silver Mercedes, she deflated.

She sat and forced herself not to think about anything on the ride back to the Elias-Clarke building. When they pulled up to the curb, she pulled herself back together and glided from the car. Her ears were immediately assaulted by the wailing of some monstrosity of a musical instrument.

She glared at the offensive person with their offensively loud instrument and their offensive song, but seeing the regular sign marked "Help Change Someone's Fortune," she softened a bit and threw a twenty absently into the upturned hat.

As soon as she stepped through the glass doors, however, she walked up to the Security desk and told them, in no uncertain terms, that she would not tolerate that kind of noise outside her building. "Get rid of it." She hissed, tapping her way across the lobby and into an elevator, scaring the bejesus out of one of the clacker crew who just so happened to attempt to get into the elevator car with Miranda until the sunglasses lowered and she was pierced with those icy eyes and pursed lips. She apologized and jumped out of the elevator, already feeling tears coming on.

Miranda left the elevator on her floor and stormed into her office, throwing her purse carelessly onto the second assistant's desk. "Emily," she said, watching in approval as the redhead jumped to her feet and started running to catch up with her, "The unfortunate girl sobbing to herself in the lobby. Make sure her desk is cleared out by the end of the day. Everyone knows I do not share an elevator, and she is no exception. After that's done, I need you to make me an appointment with my gynecologist. Just whenever works for her, and then move things around accordingly. Also, there is a prescription in my purse that I will need filled today. Make it happen."

"Yes, Miranda."

"That's all."

"Yes, Miranda." Emily raced back to her desk to get everything done, worrying the whole time. First an appointment with her regular doctor, and now an appointment with the gynecologist and a prescription? First things first, however. She called down to the lobby and had them help identify the poor newly-unemployed girl who had tried to get in the elevator with Miranda and told them to send her up.

She took care of that quickly and efficiently when the girl showed up, mascara streaming down her cheeks. Most people didn't know, but everyone Miranda fired got a very generous severance package, although based on the reason for being fired, they may or may not get a good reference as part of their packet. As her only crime had been to get on the elevator, Emily called down to her direct supervisor, and instructed him to give her an appropriate reference in the box he provided for her belongings.

After she was gone, Emily set about looking up the doctor's number and told Maureen to bring her Miranda's bag. Pulling out the prescription paper, Emily was at a loss for words for the first time since she'd begun working for the magazine's editor. _Pre-natal vitamins!?_ She chanted lightly under her breath, "I love my job. I love my job. I love my job." Handing it over to the black-haired subordinate, she told her to go and get it filled right away, to wait for it to be filled, and then come right back. She was icily instructed not to look at what the prescription was for, not to look at the bag, and not to ask any questions. At all. Ever.

As the other woman scrambled from the office to do Emily's bidding, Emily called to set up the appointment.

=======================MP/AS=======================


	5. September

**A/N:** I own nothing except my own collection of words and phrases. I have nothing for which you could sue me except for debt, and if you really want to take part of that away from me, I would welcome it.

Sorry this is a little late. I've been working on several different projects at once, and needed to complete an update for my big Potterverse fic. This is the last of the pre-written chapters I have for this story, though the next one is about half done. I wanted to finish this story before LillyPheonix's big days, but I don't think it'll happen that way at this point. Thanks for sticking with me and for your reviews, favorites, and follows.

This is, as ever, un-betaed, so any mistakes you see are my own. See any? Let me know so I can fix them.

=======================MP/AS=======================

_September 5th _

Andrea was rarely surprised by people after her stint with _Runway_. But John, her editor at the Mirror, had been an absolute sweetheart about her news. She had expected to be fired, to be demoted, to be relegated to the duties of file clerk, or to be something. What she hadn't expected was a slight bump in her base salary, and his assurances that once the time came that she couldn't waddle into the building for work every day, she could continue to draw her full salary by working from home, and they would provide as much Maternity leave as she required. The only thing she absolutely couldn't do, he said, was to bring the baby into the newsroom. He smiled as he told her that the only thing that would accomplish was everyone losing any sense of productivity because they'd be too busy gushing over the baby to get any work done.

She was still sweating the idea, because baby things and nursery equipment were expensive, and she'd have to get a maternity wardrobe, and she would absolutely have to move, because she refused to bring a baby into the shithole of a building she lived in. It was fine for her, and it had actually been perfect for Nate when he'd been there, but there was no way she was going to have a baby in it.

She had been watching the classified ads and craigslist, trying to find something in a half-decent neighborhood that was clean and well-kept and within her budget range. It wasn't easy. New York real estate was expensive and hard to find, but she wasn't a quitter.

At two months along, nobody could tell yet, unless they noticed that she was coming in a little later than usual in order to give herself time to yak up the last of her previous night's dinner before attempting to settle her newly-emptied stomach with some ginger ale and saltines. It worked most mornings, and John was being very understanding about the mornings when it didn't. He and his wife had raised five kids, and he'd been there to help his wife through every pregnancy.

Her work wasn't suffering, and she was getting more pieces that really meant something. The fact that she had several good contacts left in the fashion and publishing industries hadn't hurt at all, and from time to time, she was given a tip from Nigel that she could give to their fashion and society section for some brownie points and the promise that maybe they'd let her write something up for them sometime.

Flora still hadn't shown back up, and the new rude kid wasn't very reliable on when she would be there selling flowers. Andy still bought one when she was there, but it wasn't the same without Flora.

John was the only person she'd told so far, and she was still keeping it a secret even from Doug and Lily. She wanted to keep it to herself as long as she could, before everyone she knew was reduced to thinking about her not as Andy or Andrea, but as the baby's mom or the baby's incubator.

Her hormones were starting to jump all over the place, which the OB-GYN had told her would start to happen when she'd gone in for the initial appointment. Some days, it was all she could do to put on clothes and feel the fabric against her skin without wanting to burst into tears, while others, she wanted to find someone willing and able to touch and rub as much of her skin as possible. Those days, even her cotton sheets felt fabulously sensual against her skin, and she spent as much time as she could with her fingers buried deep within herself, panting and moaning and dripping wet.

More often than not, these days were permeated by memories of the dream she'd had of Miranda and that strange man. He was always somewhat in the background, though, and most of her pleasure was taken with an image of that signature forelock dripping sweat onto her face as they rode each other to oblivion. God, she didn't know where the dream's imagery had come from, but it was incredibly realistic, and she wished she could find out just how true to life it was.

But Miranda was Miranda and Andrea was Andrea, and after Paris, ne'er the twain shall meet.

It was torture to have these pictures. Blissful torture.

=======================MP/AS=======================

Miranda was suffering in a very similar manner. Of course, she didn't have to worry about her job or her tatty apartment, or the financial means to acquire a maternity wardrobe or a nursery setup. But the raging hormones were starting to kill her.

Her desperation for physical touch had reached an all-time low. That morning, she was feeling particularly randy, and had given herself three orgasms before coming in to the office. Therefore, her mood was jubilant. Her clothes felt like underwater sex against her sensitive skin, and she was surrounded by beautiful things and beautiful people. She was in an ecstatic mood.

She even managed to make it through her meeting with Irv without wanting to kill him.

The topping the caused the tower of icing and happiness and goodwill to crash down around her was when she'd stood to leave his office and reached out to shake his hand. He'd smiled a genuine smile at her for once, and with her skin in the state it was, the handshake had caused her clit to twitch. Hard.

Touching Irv had almost caused her to come in her pants.

That was the worst, most unacceptable, most disgusting, most vile, most horrible thing she could ever imagine.

So she'd fled back to her office, yelled at Emily that she was not to be disturbed, and went into her private bathroom. She'd washed her hands about fifteen times and used some of that anti-bacterial gel as well, but the reaction had started and if she wanted to concentrate on the rest of her day at all, she was going to have to take things in hand and deal with it.

She called up the image of Andrea sweating and moaning beneath her as they thumped their clits together, and the image was almost enough in itself. When she pushed her pants and panties to the floor and buried her fingers in her soaking cunt, she sighed Andrea's name, and it only took a few hard thrusts, with her palm pounding against the raw bundle of nerves before she came hard.

She grimaced at herself before washing up yet again and pulling her clothes back on. By the time she stepped out of the bathroom and back into her office, she was back to her old Snow Queen self. Maybe she could feel a little better if she found someone to fire? But only if the opportunity presented itself, of course.

Miranda found that she had a few minutes of free time before anyone was due, so she fed the other part of her hormonal dream monster by flipping through the Mirror, in search of anything written by Andrea. She found a couple short pieces, and read through them quickly. The articles were good. Too good for the Mirror. Miranda was impressed, and wondered what Andrea would think of her situation. She'd been the most intuitive assistant she'd ever had; surely she would have been able to come up with a reasonable solution to her endless questions of how in the hell this had happened, and why the hell it had happened to her.

But then her moment of freedom was up and it was time for the Accessories run-through.

=======================MP/AS=======================


End file.
